Beautiful Dreamer
by Youkomon
Summary: Dreamer ponders over her place in life and why she is different from her siblings...
1. Default Chapter

Wow. I wrote a Farthing Wood fiction. It features one of my favourite characters. I was immensely annoyed at how little focus was put in her character development so I tried to do her justice in this. Well this fic is based on the cartoon not the books. It just had more of an impact on me despite the fact that it got a lot of stuff wrong. Like completely alternating Friendly's character. Tch.

Anyway I put quite a bit of thought into this. (sob) Poor Dreamer…

Mute: (rolls eyes) Wussy. Guess I'll have to do the disclaimer. Right, Youkomon does not own The Animals of Farthing Wood. If she did the third season would either have been scrapped or vastly improved. She also does not own the song "Beautiful Dreamer". I have no idea who owns it, sings it etc. so please don't sue. Fanfiction authors don't earn…at least youko here doesn't…

Me: (wild sobbing is heard)

Mute: Jeez…

Me: Okay I've recovered. I'm hoping to add some more chapters with different characters reflecting on various aspects and their treatment of Dreamer. I'll just see how well this goes down first…

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Don't you think it's pretty when the dew-drops sparkle in the sun? They glimmer and glitter amongst the lush, green grass, hidden treasures lingering among nature. It's such a beautiful sight, that it seems a shame to ruin it…and it's just so easy to destroy. You merely have to walk over those little bubbles of water in order for them to pop. Just the slightest pressure and they are crushed. It always saddens me. In fact I can still remember the tears trekking down my face when I was younger as I watched my brothers and my sister dance and weave their way over the ground, killing the unimaginable beauty that thrived beneath their feet…and they reckon I'm stupid…why? It's simple really. I don't pay attention to something called reality, something they hold in high regard. No, I prefer to take time to observe the beauty that is ever present, beauty that everyone else has no time for as they tear ahead at break-neck speed, trying to keep up at the pace of survival. And what of the butterflies and the dewdrops? What of the little things that nobody notices? Don't they have a right to live? But no, everybody bypasses these delicate objects while I tend to them with my eyes, trying to atone for their nelectment. That's all they want…someone to gaze at them, letting them live in my amazement, allowing them to survive in my love for them rolling off my heart in immense waves. They need love. Everybody wants to be loved.

Can you keep a secret? I don't think father loves me. He loves Friendly because he is obedient, good and clever, always answering the right questions. Charmer because she is his little girl, beautiful, kind, charming…unlike me. Bold…yes they get on each others nerves with Bold's cheek and father's iron will clashing against each other. Yet, there is pride in the famous Farthing Wood Fox's eye when he looks down on his plucky son. Because Bold is brave and would fight to the death to defend something he believes in. Father loves the other three because they are all what I am not. They don't follow butterflies or get engrossed in the little things beneath his attention. I think his characteristics skipped me because when he looks at me he sees a stranger. There's nothing of him inside me, I'm separate, detached from all he feels is important. That's why he can't love me. Because I'm not like him.

Mother…her love is unconditional. That I know. She loves all of us and her patience with my dreaming ways is unlimited. She always chuckles affectionately when she sees me with my head in a flower, tasting the delicate petals or when I'm performing a similar feat. I love the ways she envelops me with her tail in the night, her gentle, wondrous scent binding her to my heart strings tightly. And I use to cry sometimes when the sensation of loneliness caught up to me and I thought of father's remarks about my lapses of attention that occurred so frequently. Then her tongue would be on my face, cradling my tears and flicking them away, caressing my fears and soothing my fears. Yes…she loves me, no doubt about that. I'm thankful for that.

Oh! Isn't it strange how dew-drops change something deadly like a spider's web into something so beautiful? You can clearly see how the silken threads are weaved together in such a complicated manner, illuminated by the beads of water. Water…it's only water…the same substance that makes up our tears….

Friendly has no time for tears. I've never seen him cry. But he does pass me a scornful look from time to time. It must be because he can't understand why I prefer to seek refuge in my dream world, away from the pain of reality. That's okay. I can forgive him for not understanding. That means he doesn't mean to dislike me.

Charmer is more understanding though. Being her usual kind-hearted self she keeps me company and talks to me as though I'm an equal. She doesn't comprehend my strange ways but she accepts them and that's earned her my respect. Of course she is nice to everyone so I can't be to sure if she feels a sisterly bond between us or not. It would be nice to think so at any rate.

But out of all my siblings, I love Bold the most. Is that wrong? Oh well, I'm not going to deny the truth. I look up to Bold. He is so brave and I often have to suppress a gasp at the way he is so forward with everyone. How does he get away with it? He's always looking out for my safety, I remember when we were presented to the other animals for the first time and I wandered off. Father brought me back the first time but I wasn't content to stay by mother's side like a good girl. Not when there was a whole new world to admire and be praised! So I ran off only to be confronted by the yapping muzzle of Bold who had ran in front of me, commanding me to go back. At first I was angry. Then as I matured over the passing weeks I learned of Scarface and the danger that surrounded the idealistic paradise we called home. I realised that Bold had been looking out for my safety. I was astounded that someone cared about me enough to want to protect me. He has always been that way. The overprotective brother. More so than he is with the other two. Probably because I'm not always alert and therefore vulnerable to the rule of 'only the strongest survive'. It's a nice feeling, knowing someone doesn't want you to get hurt. Makes me feel wanted. But that's not why I love Bold so much. It's because he treats everybody the same and I'm no exception to this rule. 

He sees me as another living creature like he is and treats me accordingly. He was, is and always will be protective of me but I can live with that as long as he doesn't change…

What's that noise? Hang on a minute, where's the den? My siblings? I've done it again haven't I? I've wandered off again. I haven't gone too far this time though. I can hear my brothers and sister laughing to my right. I should go back but I have the weirdest feeling of being watched…

Pain. Dull, blinding pain that ruthlessly burrows into my chest. I'm on my back and there's teeth lining my throat. Stop it…it hurts. Ow! Stop, stop, stop! Let go!…Can't breathe…

My body weakens and my struggling movements start to cease. How I hate my weak form and how I hate whoever doing this. I can catch glimpses of grey fur above me but my vision is tinged black and I can't view the world around me as clearly as I want to.

No! I don't want to go! Badger told me about the autumn and how the trees shed their leaves…I want to watch them fall to the ground and see their vibrant colours…who is going to respect and look after nature if I leave? I need to stay…Bold will be devastated if I die and he'll blame himself for not being by my side in order to prevent this! I don't want that to happen! He and Mother will miss me…I'll cause them such sorrow. No! I couldn't stand it if I made Mother cry…maybe Friendly and Charmer will miss me. Father won't. He will be glad that the stranger has gone. And it hurts even more than the pain that is now currently enveloping my senses not to mention my chest. I just wanted him to care about me in the same way he did for the others. I wanted to fit in with my family but that would mean giving up the very thing that makes me who I am. My dreams.

The pain is fading. The thief who took my life has run off. I'm alone.

Pad-pad.

Footsteps? Sounds familiar…like Father. A gasp? Now the footsteps have broken into a trot and someone halts at my side, clumsily, as though they're not sure what to do or what to feel. Ha. They're too late. Soon the dreams will stop altogether. And Dreamer the Farthing Fox's daughter cannot exist without her dreams to sustain her.

"Dreamer? Dreamer! Wake up! Open your eyes! Tell me who did this to you! Get up!"

It is Father. How ironic. He's ordering me to conquer death. He may be the leader of the Farthing Wood animals but unfortunately he cannot command life or death. 

"Wake up!…Please?"

What's this? He is begging? Pleading? No way.

"Please!"

His voice sounds tearful, desperate even. I struggle to open my heavy eyelids. I mange it although it takes all my mental strength to do so. What I see shocks me. Father has a haunted expression on his face and he is…crying?

The sun catches his tears as they descend down his face transforming them into beautiful dew-drops. Dew-drops for **_me_**.

We both know that it is fruitless to be in denial. I'm dying and there's nothing anyone can do about it. I don't want to die and try to communicate this in breathless gasps, mentally cursing the fact that I am denied the power of speech. Father hears me and leans closer.

"Shhhhh…"

He licks my face and I am honoured. I can't remember him ever displaying such acts of affection to anyone except my mother.

"Beautiful Dreamer, wake unto me,

Starlight and dew-drops are waiting for thee;"

He is singing…a song for me. A song that has my name in it. Funny, it even has the word dew-drops in it. How many times have I thought about those little droplets today?

"…Sounds of the rude world, heard in the day,

Lull'd by the moonlight have all pass'd away!

Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song…"

His voice begins to break. It doesn't matter. He sang because he cares. He makes me feel loved. He loves me. I want to scream it out to who ever will listen. 

My eyes close. The dreams fade. So this is death. Strange, it feels like I'm waking up for the first time in my life.

Before I leave I hear my Father whispers two words that shimmer in my mind and dance in the air.

"Beautiful Dreamer."

Love you too Daddy.


	2. She's gone

I'm posting this before I change my mind…if it ruins the whole thing let me know and I'll take it down. It was a spur of the moment thing.

Mute: All this is told in Bold's point of view and takes place…well if you've watched the cartoon you should be able to work it out.

Me: Dedicated to my recently deceased mother who read the first chapter and encouraged me to keep on writing no matter what. Love you Mummy.

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I'm running. My head's in a breathless rush but my feet know exactly where to go and hastily plant a course for me to follow.

How can Father be so unfeeling…doesn't he care at all? Did he ever allow her to enter his heart for a second? How can he not want justice to be done? He seemed so hollow and wooden like he was incapable of feeling it back there. In the clearing. Where she lies, peaceful as ever, but this time no one will be able to snap her out of her dreams. Maybe she'll be happier that way, perhaps I'm just being selfish when I want her to wake up and live in reality with me.

I halt in a split second, noisy, grieving gasps rolling off my flanks in heaving tremors. For there, in the middle of the path, is a yellow butterfly. It looks just like the one she was following yesterday. You heard me correctly, following. She never chased anything simply because chasing something is a cruel concept and she was never capable of just a notion. She was never cruel. She was pure like unfiltered sunlight, golden rays that the helpless and the weak would bask in. Earthworms, creatures like that. I would watch wishing I could join in. But I never did, knowing that one look and those small animals would flee from me and my little sister would regard me with such sadness in those glittering orbs of hers that I would feel like a criminal. Though she never intended me to ever feel that way. Who was I to cast a shadow into her sunlight? I never wanted to fill her eyes with any emotion aside from happiness and I'm beginning to realise that'll I'll never see any kind of feeling in them ever again. Those untainted eyes are closed now…

Oh Mother Nature. She's gone. She…really…has…gone….it's just hit me harder than the force of a human's careless bullet tearing through the taut muscles connected to the shoulder blade. And this bullet has a jagged emotional edge to it that makes the wound throb and burn like nothing I've ever experienced before. It hurts so bad…this new found pain is just screaming at me to lunge and tear and **_kill_**…anything to make it stop and forget about **_her_**. Her…her with the calm, serene face so stilled by death a horrible beauty that my heart is pleading with my head to deny. Something, no, someone can't be beautiful and ugly at the same time can they? But then again…she was never ordinary or what others considered 'normal'. Pah! I don't understand how anyone could look at something as pretty, kind, gentle and wondrous at her and feel nothing but scorn and contempt. Couldn't they find sanctuary in those glittering depths of intensity when she was star struck by a simple butterfly? Couldn't they be thankful that in this harsh, unforgiving world full of feuds and bitterness, in which we struggle in that such innocence managed to exist? I guess not…maybe they're as cold hearted as Scarface but refuse to accept it, after all heroes can do no wrong. Especially not heroes like my father. Humph! I bet he would be surprised if he knew what was going on my head! I don't think he believes that someone as cocky as me is capable of forming any particular deep thoughts of his own. After all I spend a lot of the time defying him. Well…someone's got to stand up to and keep his ego in check…don't know how Mother tolerates him sometimes. I refuse to let him control my life let alone the way I think!

Guess that's why I respected **_her_** so much. In her own little world she was always free to be herself and think whatever she pleased. Free from even Father, his comments could not sway her from her dreams thankfully. So liberated was she, that even I didn't know what went on inside that head of hers, yet I'm sure it could be nothing but sweetness and …and…happiness, a sort of contentment that she always seemed to radiant when she was being who she was. I wish I could find inner peace as easily as she did. She achieved what so many creatures seem to miss. Tranquillity, a quiet acceptance of everyone and everything, a wonderful gift to have. I still bear resentment at Adder for strangling me but when Whistler crashed down on her she took it happily, smiling in that detached fashion of hers, even proceeding to nuzzle him afterwards. Yes, she forgave easily…too easily if ask me…and what's been done to her can never be forgiven.

How can anyone want to separate someone as lovely as her from her life? Why?!? What had she ever done to anybody that made fate decreed to put her to death?!? I never saw a trace of malice in her soul. Never. How ironic then that her heartless murderer is full of it. Scarface…I don't need proof to know he's responsible for denying my sister's light to shine through and thrive…he deserves so much more than what I'm going to do to him. Quite frankly, I've no idea what I am going to do to him but my guts are telling me to follow my heart. And my heart is screaming at me to make him pay, to increase the pain my sister was forced to endure a million times over on his own grizzled frame. I want to make him suffer and I'm going to enjoy it just as the beast probably exalted in her death.

Oh, Mother Nature no! Stop it! All these mental images are clouding my mind making it hazy and red. I can see her thrashing beneath him, feel her terror, see the crimson liquid spilling from his sneering yellow jaws, watch her eyes dim, that spark of vitally extinguished. No, no, no! Why wasn't I there! I could have stopped him! I would have stopped him! Out of my siblings I'm the biggest and the strongest and…oh nature…I could have saved her…she might still be alive! I wasn't there to protect from that piece of scum and I'm feeling the price weighting down heavy on my heart. A price too costly to pay.

**_He killed her, he killed her, he killed her…_**

My baby sister…gone…it's all his fault…I'll avenge her! I can't stop now!

I carefully sidestep the motionless butterfly and break into a sprint again. There's no time to waste now. I need to something, fast or I'll burn up deep inside and I'll become completely empty.

**_He killed her, he killed, he killed her…_**

I know, I know! And I know I'll never make it right again. But I'll try. I won't let her memory fade away into the wind and be forgotten.

I wonder…in her final moments…she didn't feel betrayed…did she? I mean no one was there to help her so would she have assumed that no one cared for her? No…she wouldn't have believed that would she? I mean I loved her for pity's sake! She can't have doubted that surely? Why am I even thinking this? No matter…I deserve it…because I could have saved her…

**_I'm sorry Dreamer…please forgive me…please?_**


	3. Petals in the Wind

Defiantly one of my stranger stories. This isn't one of those fics that I just write whenever I want. Whenever I get an idea of a character's point of view I jot it down. It's a story I come back to now and again.

Mute: Okay, Friendly's up next! And he has a very strange mind…

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It's quiet now. Usually I like the silence. It's my second favourite sound next to the buzz of chatter and the warm communication of normality. But not this type. No this is cold, clammy and foreign. It's the calm after the storm.

I can't believe Bold snapped at Father like that. No, wait, I can believe that he's Bold and being unreasonable is part of his nature. I disapprove of such actions. Our parents are so good to us; none could ask for better. So how does Bold express his thanks? By calling Father a coward and charging off with this absurd notion of revenge. So he turns his back on his family and, well, personally I think Father should have put his paw down…did Bold even stop to consider the effect his action will have on our dear mother? No…of course not…she's pale, taunt and her heart is breaking…of course her heart was already brutally torn in two and hurtled into the dust before when we found…well…

So now here we are Mother, Charmer and me staring at each other not sure what to do or say. If I could wipe away the situation I would but…urgh, I hate being powerless…because I'm the role model. The perfect one. The one who does what he is told, praised often, the polite one who is fiercely loyal to both his family and his heritage. The mild one who would never raise his voice against Father unlike my dear brother. The idiot. Mother's worried sick about him. Hell, even I feel concern on his behalf. I never underestimate what he could do yet I really don't think that he's thinking straight. Why can't he be more like me? I mean I'm perfect or at least I try to be so that nothing goes amiss. I hate change. I detest it. And the only way to keep things the same is to be perfect. How can things change when you're perfect? Answer: they can't. Leastways that's the way I see it. Of course Bold never fits in with my plans due to his rashness. So I view him with…scorn? Yes, that's the right word.

See our parents are older and therefore wiser so if we listen to them nothing can go wrong and everyone will be happy. Of course someone just had to mess up this routine as well. Someone who **_never_** pays attention. And look where that got her…

What's mother saying? About how she doesn't want to lose anyone else? Does that mean Charmer and I have to run off to get your attention now? In order to receive your worry? Just look at me! Please…I've tried so hard to be everything you and Father have ever wanted me to be. Isn't that good enough for you? How can someone be better than perfect? Answer: they can't. But if you really want me to excel past the point of perfection I guess I could give it a try. The trouble is I might fail. And I've never failed before…at least I've never disappointed you.

You cry for her. Despite the fact that she always disappointed you, failed you. But you still cry…why? Do you love us the more imperfect we are? Do you nurture her lack of perfection? Do you love us for our faults? I guess you do…maybe it's all part of a mother's job. Yet is it not also the duty of a mother to love her sons and daughters equally? But if you didn't then you wouldn't be perfect. And you and Father are perfect…aren't you?

Why am I having such thoughts? It's this damn situation! It has disturbed our daily basis of living and I hate it, I hate it, hate it! She's messing up things from beyond the grave! She's spoilt everything! Is that fair? I'm sick of being fair!

**_She_** was fair. And she never tired of it. She never passed judgement on anybody, she always treated everyone equally. She did it so effortlessly and with such grace…it puts all my efforts to shame. What does it mean to be perfect? Is it doing what you're told, thinking in the shape or pattern you've been taught to think by two individuals? Or is it more simple? So simple that only one that lies among the butterflies can truly grasp its concept.

So without my perfection…what am I left with? Regret? A hollow shell? Who is Friendly? Wish I knew…maybe she would know. Then again I never really bothered to listen to her opinions. Though she never talked much in the first place. Too late now to ask anything. That's where the regret comes in. Rolling and rolling in, unstoppable. Too late, too late, too late. A chant that echoes round and round.

See that flower? The pink one? The one right next to the holly bush? She was regarding it with an intense fascination yesterday as though nothing was more important than that simple plant. As if it had more worth than the hunting lesson mother was drilling through our heads. I didn't understand the point of such a worthless pastime…not the lesson but staring at a flower? Where's the knowledge to be gained from such an activity? What's the point? Answer me that if you can. I never understood her strange ways before and I don't pretend to comprehend them now.

Since I can't question her now I guess I never will…well I could ask the small creatures she was forever communicating with. That's if you could call it communication. She would just look at them and something sparkled through her head…I can't explain it…unfortunately I don't possess the same power as her. I can't speak the silent language with her 'friends' that she mastered with no trace of an effort. So I'm ignorant.

Stupid. The flower will wilt soon. The small don't last forever. The petals will drop and leave the stalk bare and naked. Reminds of a living thing that's conscious of proper thought. The petals are the soul and the stalk is the body. In death no one knows where the petals go; the wind steals them away. And even if you did find them it would be impossible to reinsert them back onto that stalk.

Yes…flowers don't last forever…life was perfect until the biting wind came along and ripped off one of the petals in this family. I swear I can already see our stalk wilting, blackening, rotting…

What are we supposed to do now? Father will know. He always does. Yes, I'll ask him when he gets back. So why is this icy feeling of doubt settling in my stomach?

It's stupid but I think I'll miss her. No, I'm missing her already. Which is surprising because I didn't expect to. And it's making me feel insecure and weak. Weak like her. It's all your fault Dreamer. You're making me feel this way…and I don't want to! I don't want any of this!

I hate you.

…No, I don't. I'm just confused and hurt. We all are. If this is price of perfection then being normal is looking more appealing by the second. Anything to stop all the hurt and the pain…

Maybe I'll pick that flower for you Dreamer and give it to your dead stalk later on. But not now. I need to think.

**_Tell me Dreamer…where did he take your petals…because we need them back…_**


End file.
